


Insurrection

by Coquettish_Cavort



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Blood and Gore, Dark, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coquettish_Cavort/pseuds/Coquettish_Cavort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No-SGRUB AU, which takes place on Alternia. After the plight of the Ancestors was over, Her Imperious Condescension decided against her initial decision on removing all adults from the planet. Many centuries later, we arrive at the story of their decedents, who have just reached adulthood and have chosen their titles. The newest Grand Highblood is rumored to be just as horrid as the last. However, he is not under the jurisdiction of The Empress, like his predecessor was. In fact, he has begun a rebellion against the Empress, with the help of many land-dwellers and a few disgruntled sea dwellers. Her lusus has been slain, but now he must find and kill the empress in order to become the new ruler of the Troll Empire. Alternia is in a state of civil war, but which side will win?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insurrection

**Insurrection**

 

A soft cadence of a noise drifts out across the dank, dimly lit room. It’s a noise that sounds like a faucet after it’s seen too many years, when its handles stop working and its dripping just won’t stop. The noise is punctuated by naught but silence. Silence that lays over the room like a blanket, thick and heavy. For a long, pregnant minute, it seems like there will never be anything in that room but dripping and stale breath, but then there’s a crunch, followed by a gasp that seems to have come from someone who had been holding their breath too long. A deep, boisterous laugh traces after the gasp, echoing through the room like some kind of unholy nightmare. You feel that laugh as if it entered your body, your soul. You feel fear.

Chains rustle as the person next to you tries to reach up. Tries to cover their ears. Tries to drown out that dreadful noise. You know they feel it too. You all feel it. It clouds your mind and pushes the air out of your lungs, no matter how much you try to suck that air back into them. You think this is what a panic attack feels like. At least, you can say you’re faring better than the lad a few trolls down from you, because you’re pretty sure he just pissed himself, if that sharp odor that just bit through the air has anything to say about it. The laughter stops, just as abruptly as it started, though the fear still remains, mingling in with your other thoughts and reminding you that you _aren’t_ strong enough to deal with this. You aren’t as strong as you thought. For a moment, it seems like your vision orbs are rebelling against you, pricking up with tears no matter how hard you will them to just… _not_ do that. This would be the literal worst time for you to have a break down. You cannot think of a worse time for this to be happening.

You’re shoved out of your thoughts as the back of the line of chained trolls is pushed at the same time the front is pulled. It’s a good thing you’re a pretty strong guy, because the troll next to you just fell, and the jerking, the yanking, from his weight threatens to pull you down too. Regardless of the pain of the bite of the metal from the added weight, you trudge forwards. It’s not like you have much choice. To be stagnant now is to become forever. A gush of sticky fluid is pressed beneath your thin shoes, saturating them with a liquid that makes you want to retch. You know what it is. There’s no way it isn’t _that_. Personally, you’d rather be standing in your own filth.

The source of the glutinous liquid is made obvious as a body comes into view. The body is familiar, though you can’t say you feel all too much remorse about him being ended like this. The guy was an asshat. However, there is a small part of you that wishes he was still here. Having him as your slaveowner is a better option than being stuck with the guy who did this to him. Speaking of which, you stare at the body, you stare at the floor, and you stare at the trail of thick violet blood as it seeps into this grate that’s bolted into the ground. Anything to avoid staring at this troll who could barely be called a troll. You’ve heard of him, little whispers and horror stories told around camp fires and at coontime to get trolls to listen to their custodians. But, you’d never imagined ever actually having to _meet_ him.

You stay like this for a few minutes, watching the trail of blood as it thinned down into a trickle. The troll next to you has definitely passed out and it smells like some shit has joined the piss in that other guy’s pants. It wasn’t until you heard those heavy set footsteps, sourced from the same shoes that just stepped on, crushed on, the decapitated skull of the troll who would have been called a prince in normal circumstances, that you shut your eyes. You keep them squeezed shut for a second, hearing as he made different noises while inspecting your group.

Among your group were some of the most interesting trolls Alternia had to offer. Each had something a little weird and off about them, which the bastard on the floor thought would interest the ungodly monster of a troll that was only a few feet away. You were one of about a dozen bargaining chips. A last ditch hope to stop these skirmishes before they turned into an all-out war. These unusual slave offerings were meant to entertain him, to please him. He wasn’t wrong, it seemed. A surprised sounding noise, which for some reason sounded more like a ‘honk’ than anything comes out of _his_ mouth in a way that confuses you to no end. Why would such a ridiculous noise be coming from the most feared troll on the planet? It seems like the troll who had horns growing from his maw like tusks had interested him in particular, though it also seemed that interest was short lived.

Oh god, he was only like three trolls away from you now. It seemed like he wasn’t too impressed by the guy who shat himself, if the half formed snort that came from his snout was any evidence. You knew that guy as the troll who had an extra arm, though the third one was twisted and shrunken, as if it never finished growing. He could move it, though, just enough that it was deemed necessary to give him a third shackle. The monster opens his mouth and says something to the troll, but you can’t be arsed to decipher what the mumble was. After a moment, he moves down the line. The next troll was a girl who sported tiny, frail wings, which had been damaged on the trip here. She let out a nearly incoherent babble as he approached her, insuring him that she was special and interesting and she begged him not to kill her. He says in a voice that’s about as soft as a pinhead and about as smooth as gravel that she needs to ‘shut the motherfuck up, because he couldn’t be up and having this motherfucking level of insubordination up in here.’ Once again, you’re confused as to how this ridiculous sounding guy could be the source of all horrorterrors.

It becomes apparent that the troll next to you is not passed out. A trail of discombobulated sounding prayers are bubbling up his throat and spilling from his lips as he seems to beg the gods to be merciful to him. _He_ is not very amused by these tactics. It is then, when he speaks again, that you realize why people are afraid of him.

“what’s all this noise you’ve got coming out of your squawker, peasant?”

The troll does not answer him. Instead, he continues his prayers, voice rising a little bit as his mumbling became more frenzied.

“CEASE THESE MOTHER FUCKING IMPIOUS NOISES, MOTHER FUCKER.”

“or i’ll motherfuckin take your tongue.”

“AS A MOTHERFUCKIN TESTAMENT TO YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN BETRAYAL.”

“aint gunna make a peep.”

“AIN’T GUNNA MAKE A MOTHERFUCKIN SOUND.”

“gunna have at the most sacred vow of silence.”

“THE MOST SACRED VOW THERE EVER WAS, HAHAHA!”

He seems to think there’s something funny about this statement, because he’s all chuckles over it. You don’t even have to see this guy write to know his quirk –It’s plain and clear from the way he talks, unlike yours. Yeah, sure, you sometimes raise your voice, but it’s not constant or anything. But, his tone seems to be inconsistent and that frightens you. One moment he was speaking in a polite whisper, and then next he was screaming so loud you bet his fangs rattled when the roars left his tubular wind chute. To your (and basically everyone else’s horror), the troll next to you refuses to cease his actions. 

“No,” the defiant troll says, finally formulating a coherent sentence. “I will not bow to your will.”

“so be it, pagan,” the creature (you refuse to think of him as a person) responds.

“DIDN’T WANT TO BE HAVING HOSTILITY AT A MOTHERFUCKER.”

“but can’t up and stand this unchill perversion of the holy word.”

“WHEN IT’S ALL LAID OUT IN FRONT OF ME.”

The sounds you hear next are awful and executed with a slowness that wrenches your blood pusher. You can never un-hear them and you know it. The fact sinks into your nutrition sack like a bag of rocks, weighing you down as your stomach twisted in on itself, trying its best to make you color the floor with your last meal. Your eyes are still shut and you have no intention of opening them, but your other senses are still fully functioning and you can’t escape that. There’s a tug at the chains, offering temporary relief as the weight of the kneeling troll is removed from your arms. It’s not hard to guess that the monster picked the other troll up, and it’s not hard to guess that he slammed his face into the ground right after. You wince, equally in horror and pain from the chafing of the manacles around your wrist. That time, you _really_ almost fall, knees buckling under the weight of the fully grown troll next to you being body slammed. The weight is relieved again and your pointed ears lay flat against your skull as you realize _why_ that just happened. It was obviously the easiest way to get the troll’s fangs out of the way. You wince and run your tongue over your own, fairly sharp fangs and try not to imagine them being broken, shoved into the flesh of your lip.

You’re spared that gruesome fantasy by a real life horror show. A horrid choking noise comes from the nameless fellow next to you, as it sounds like the purple blooded tyrant goes through with his threat. A bubbling, gurgling noise, cuts off the scream ripping from the troll's throat, as his tongue is clawed out and thrown onto the floor with a slapping noise that’s heavy enough to make you feel sick again. Such brutality was beyond your mental capacity. Though it had seemed slow at first, it had really began and ended so quickly that you were still in a state of shock when those footsteps landed in front of you.

You haven’t the gall to open your eyes. You don’t want to see what this guy looks like. _Smelling_ him his bad enough. There was no fucking way a hive this large didn’t have an ablution trap, yet this troll was putting off an odor that was reminiscent of the time your lusus threw up some hoofbeast shit he had eaten earlier that night. Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating but you could swear that the guy smelled like rotting flesh. The temptation to gag is near impossible to resist. For a moment there is naught but the sound of breathing. Yours was coming in quick little huffs, but his seemed to be eerily slow, almost as if he was sitting back and relaxing on the big stupid throne that you got a glimpse of earlier.

“ain’t get it, bro.”

“WHAT’S ALL UP AND SPECIAL ABOUT YOU, MOTHERFUCKER?”

Just then, you probably make the worst decision of your entire existence. You should have, could have, answered him. You could have _lied._ But you didn’t. You stood there with your lips pursed together, tighter than a blue blood’s asshole. He isn’t very happy about this.

“well?”

“WELL?”

“speak.”

“UP.”

When you don’t, long, bony fingers grip your face and oh god, oh god, his fingers are wet. You make the most pathetic sound that you’ve ever made in your life, but that seems to be the only noise you can make. If you were to open your mouth, you’re sure it would be to comment on how he _shouldn’t_ speak up with his breath smelling like that. It’s probably for the best that you don’t do that, though. There’s a sharp pain as he squeezes your cheeks, forcing your fangs to bite into your lip. Your mouth opens, in an attempt to spare your flesh from being shredded. There’s a noncommittal grunt as he examines your fangs. He sounds relatively unimpressed, which makes your pan teeter a little more towards anger. You could probably focus more on that, if you weren’t flipping out over the fact that his hand is wet and warm and coated with something that sticks to your face and is _way_ too viscous to be water.

Gusty little wheezes come out of your open mouth as you try to suck in the air that you can’t seem to hold inside of you. He just ripped out someone’s _tongue_ with that hand and he was _touching you with it._ _No, no, no, no. Don’t touch me, don’t touch me. I’m afraid, I don’t want this._ Your pan is stuck in a loop of unvoiced pleas as you try not to start crying. He tips your head to the side and begins examining you, looking for something off about you.

He hums to himself as he notices your ears, which are tipped with pathetic looking, half formed fins. A curious finger prods at the tip of one and you jerk your head away, some preservative instinct flaring up in you.

“the motherfuck that heretic was thinking bringing at me my own caste?”

Oh. _Oh._ He assumed you were one of his bloodline, due to the obvious duality of land and sea that your body displayed. It was very rare for this to occur in purple bloods, but it happens in those who have a hue that borderlines on violet. He was wrong. Oh so wrong. You were the bridge between sea and land, not the other way around. Smack dab between tyrian and rust. And you hoped to god that he didn’t find out.

“IS THIS SOME KIND OF A MOTHERFUCKING JOKE?”

“righteously declared unfunny.”

“BY THE MOTHERFUCKING COURT.”

Right. Apparently being bad at jokes was a killable offense in this building. Or in the presence of a subjugglator at all, really. You’d almost forgotten about that. Almost. To your great relief, he releases your jaw, which was cramping up quite a bit. In all honesty, you knew this ruse wouldn’t last forever. The moment you opened your damnable eyes was the moment you’d probably stop breathing for good.

Or maybe you wouldn’t have a choice on that. It seems that he had only released your jaw so that he could use his thumb to drag up your eyelid. At first, you resist it, but then a thick, curved claw threatens to tear your eyelids off, if you don’t move them, so you do, meeting his gaze with a defiant one of your own.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, my first story on here. It's a little short, but it will do.
> 
> Tell me your thoughts. :o)


End file.
